The Land
of Broken
Promises
A Stirring
Story of the
Mexican
Revolution
By
DANE COOLIDGE
Umit-r J ,v n* Flcbltn, Pool." "Hidden
Won "The Tex Inn." tic.
11/iutratiom Ay DON J. LAVIN
(Copyright. 1914. by Prank A. MunaayJ
“What, senor!” she bantered; “you
do not speak? Surely, then, your
friend De Lancey was wrong when
he said you would save me! For look,
Mr. Hooker, I am promised to marry
dear Phil; but how can I manage thut
when Manuel del Rey is watching ire?
It is, impossible, is it not?"
“Seems so,” muttered Bud, and in
the back of his head he began to think
quickly. Here was the fountainhead
of his misfortunes, and if she had her
way she would lay all his plans in
ruins—and even then not marry Phil.
In fact, from the light way she spoke,
he sensed that she did not intend to
marry him. Her grudge was against
Manuel del Rey who drove away all
her lovers.
“Well," he ventured, "there’s no
•rush, I reckon—Phil’s enlisted for five
years."
“Ha!" she oried contemptuously;
‘and do you think he will serve? No!
At a word from me he will flee to the
border and I shall join him in the
United States!”
"What?” demanded Bud; "Phil de
sert?"
In a moment he saw what such a
move would mean to him—to Kruger
snd the Eagle Tail —and he woke su'*
denly from his calm.
"Here now," he said, scowling _b he
saw that she was laughing at him,
"you’ve made me and Phil enough
trouble. You let that boy alone,
savvy?"
He stooped toward her as he spoke,
fixing her with masterful eyes that
had tamed many a bad horse and man,
and she shrank away instinctively.
Then she glanced at him shyly and
edged over toward the open door.
"I will do what I please, Mr. Hook
er,” she returned, balancing on the
verge of flight
“All right” Bud came back; “but
don’t you call me in on it. You’ve
made a fool of Phil —I suppose you’d
like to get me, too. Then your father
would grab our mine."
"What do you mean?" she chal
lenged, turning back upon him.
"1 mean this," responded Hooker
warmly. "Phil holds the title to our
mine. If he deserts he loses his Mexi
can citizenship and his claim is no
good. But you don’t need to think that
your father will get the mine then, be
cause he’ll have to whip me first!"
"O-ho!” she sneered; “so that is
what you are thinking of? You are a
true gringo, Mr. Hooker —always
thinking about the money!"
"Yes," returned Bud; “and even at
that I believe your old man will best
me!"
She laughed again, with eudden
capriciousness, and stood tapping the
floor with her foot.
"Ah, 1 see," she said at length, gaz
ing at him reproachfully; "you think
I am working for my father. You
think I got poor Phil into all this
trouble in order to cheat him of his
mine. But let me tell you, Senor
Gringo," she cried with sudden fire,
"that 1 did not! I have nothing to do
with my father and his schemes. But
if you do not trust me—"
She turned dramatically to go, but
w hen Hooker made no effort to stay
her she returned once more to the at
tack.
"No." she said, “It was because he
was an American —because he was
brave —that 1 put my faith in Phil.
These Mexican men are cowards—they
are afraid to stand up and fight! But
Philip dared to make love to me—he
dared to sing to me at night—and
when Manuel del Rey tried to stop him
he stood up and made a fight!
“Ah, that Is what I admire—a man
who is brave! And let me tell you,
Senor Hooker, I shall always love your
friend! If I could run away I would
marry him tomorrow; but this cur,
Manuel del Rey, stands in the way.
Even my own father is against me.
But I don’t care—1 don’t care what
happens—only do not think that I am
not your friend!"
She paused now and glanced at him
Bhyly, and as her eloquent eyes met
his own Bud felt suddenly that Bhe
was sincere. The gnawing and corro
sive doubts that had eaten at his heart
fell away, and he suw her now in her
true beuuty, with no uneasy thoughts
of treuchery to poison his honest love.
"I believe you, lady," he said. "And
I’m glud to know you," he added, tak
ing off his hat and bowing awkwardly.
“Anything 1 can do for you, don’t hesi
tate to usk for it—only 1 can’t go
against my purdners on this mine."
He bowed again and retreated
toward tile door, but she followed him
Impulsively.
“Shuke hands," Rlie said, holding out
both her own, "and will you help me?"
"Sure!" answered Bud, and as her
soft fingers closed on his he took them
gently, for fear that he might crush
them and never know.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A month of weary waiting followed
that day of days in Fortuna, and still
there was no word from Phil. Bernardo
Bravo and his rebel raiders passed
through the mountains to the east, and
news came of heavy fighting in Chi
huahua. Don Cipriano Aragon moved
his family back to his hacienda and
Gracia became only a dream.
Then, one day, as Hooker and the
Yaqui were Industriously pounding out
gold, a messenger came out from town
with a telegram In his hand.
Am In Gadsden. No chance to hold
mine Kruger says quit.—P.
"No I’ll be ’earned If I do!" mut
tered Bud. Then he sat down to think.
"Amigo," he said to the Yaqui, "are
you a Mexican citizen? Can you get
title to mine?"
"Me a Mexican?" repeated Amigo,
tapping himself on the chest “No,
senor! Seguro que no!"
"All right then," observed Bud bit
terly, "here goes nothing—nowhere!
I’ll turn Mexican myself!"
He passed the messenger on the way
to town, took out his first papers as a
citizen, picked up the mineral agent’s
expert on the way back, and located
the Eagle Tall in his own name. Be
fore riding back to camp -he wired to
Kruger:
Have turned Mex and relocated claim.
HOOKER.
It was his last card, and he did not
expect to win by it. Fate had been
against him from the firet, and he
could see his finish, but his nature
drove him to fight on. All that Ara
gon had to do now was to have him
summoned for military service, and
Del Rey would do the rest.
Then he could take over the mine.
A mere formality—or so it seemed—
but between Aragon and his mine
stood the Texas blood. Hooker had
been crowded to the wall, and he was
mad enough to fight
The news of De Lancey’B desertion
followed quickly after his flight—it
came over the federal wires in a re
port to Manuel del Rey—but by the
time It got to Aragon that gentleman
was too late. They rode Into camp
the next day—Aragon and the captain
of the rurales—and at the first glimpse
of that hated uniform Amigo was off
like a buck. Bud went out sullenly
to meet them, his black mood showing
in his lowering eyes, and he halted
them by the savagery of his cursing.
"You cock-eyed old reprobate,” he
snarled, advancing threateningly udoq
the paling Aragon, “this makes three
times you've come into my camp and
brought your gun with you! Now take
it ofT!” he yelled, dropping suddenly
into Spanish. "Take that gun off—do
you understand?”
So violent and unexpected was hie
assault that it threw Aragon into a
panic, and even Manuel del Rey soft
ened his manner as he Inquired into
the cause.
"Never mind,” answered Bud.
smiling crustily as Aragon laid aside
“Take That Gun Off, Do You Under
stand?**
his arms; "J know* that hombre well!
Now what can 1 do for you, capitan?"
"Be so kind as to take your hand
from your belt," replied Del Rey with
a smile that was intended to placate.
"Ah, thank you—excuse my nerves—
now I can tell you the newe. 1 regret
to Inform you, senor, that your friend,
De Lancey. has deserted from my com
mand, taking his arms and equipment
with him. In case he is captured he
will be shot as a deserter."
"Your news is old, capitan," re
joined Hooker. "I knew it two days
ago. And you can tell Mr. Aragon
that it is no use for him to try to get
this mine—l became a Mexican citizen
yesterday und located it myself."
"So we learned,’’ responded the cap
tain suavely. "It was part of my
errand today to ask if you would not
enlist in my company of rurales."
"Muchas gracias, capitan," an
swered Hooker with heavy irony. "I
do not care to!"
"But your frieud—" protested Man
uel del Rey with an insinuating smile.
"My friend was in Jail," put in Bud;
"he was to be shot ut sunrise. But
mlra, amigo, I am not in juil, and,
furthermore, I do not intend to be."
"That Is very creditable to yon,"
laughed Del Rey; "but even then you
are entitled to enlist. The country is
full of turbulent fellows who liuve to
be caught or killed. Come now, you
•mderetund my errand—why make It
hard fdr me?" I
“No, senor," returned Bud grimly,
"I know nothing of your errand. But |
this I do know. I have done nothing;
for which I can be arrested, and if any
man tries to make me join the army—"
he heoked his thumb into his belt and
regarded the captain fixedly.
"Ah, very well," said Del Rey, Jerk
ing his waxed mustachios, “I will not
presu the matter. But I understand
from one of my men, senor, that you
are harboring a dangerous criminal
here—the same man, perhaps, whom I
saw running up the canyon?"
He smiled meaningly at this, but
Bud was swift to defend his Yaqui.
"No, senor," he replied, "I have no
such criminal. I have a Mexican work
ing for me who is one of the best
miners in Sonora, and that is all I
know about him."
“A Mexican ?’’ repeated Del Rey,
arching his eyebrows. "Excuse me,
sir, but it is my business to know
every man in this district, and he is
nc* Mexican, but a Yaqui. Moreover,
he is a fugitive and an outlaw, and if
be had not been enlisted with the fed
erate I should have arrested him when
he passed through Fortuna. So I warn
you, sir, not to hide him, or you will
be liable to the law."
"I’m not hiding him," protested
Hooker scornfully. "I’m just hiring
him as a miner, and any time you want
him you can come and get him. He’s
up in the rocks there somewhere
now."
"So!" exclaimed the captain, glanc
ing uneasily at the hillside. "I did not
think—but many thanks, senor, an
other time will do as well."
He reined his horse away as he
spoke and, with a jerk of the head to
Aragon, rode rapidly down the can
yon. Aragon lingered to retrieve his
fallen gun-belt and then, seeming to
think better of his desire to speak, he
made a single vindictive gesture and
set spurs to his champing horse.
It was mrely a fling; of the hand, as
spontaneous as a sigh or a frown, but
in it Hooker read the last exasperation
of the Spaniard and his declaration of
war to the knife. He bared his strong
teeth In reply and hissed out a blight
ing curse, and then Aragon was gone.
That evening, as the darkness came
on and the canyon became hushed and
still Bud built a big fire and stood be
fore it, his rugged form silhouetted
against the flames. And soon, as quiet
as a fox, the Yaqui appeared from the
gloom.
"Did he come for me?” he asked,
advancing warily into the firelight,
"that capitan?”
"Yes,” answered Bud, “and for me,
too. But you must have known him
before. Amigo—he seems to be afraid
of you."
A smile of satisfaction passed over
the swarthy face of the Indian at this,
and then the lines became grim again.
His eyes glowed with the light of some
great purpose, and for the first time
since he had been with Bud he drew
aside the veil from his past.
"Yes." he said, nodding significantly,
"the rural ie afraid. He knows I have
come to kill him."
He squatted by the fire and poured
out a cup of coffee, still brooding over i
his thoughts—then, with a swift ges
ture. he laid open his shirt and pointed ;
to a scar along the ribs.
"He shot me there," he said.
“And so you have come to kill him?’’
"Yes,” answered Amigo; "but not
now. Tomorrow' Igoto my people— ,
I must lake them my money first."
"Have you got a wife?” asked Hook
er, forgetting for once his accustomed
reserve.
"No,” grumbled Amiga, shaking his
head sadly, "no wife."
"Oh, you take your money to your
father and mother."
"No. No father—no mother—nadie!"
He threw up his open handß to sig- !
nify that .all were gone, and Hooker
said no more. For three months and
more he had worked alongside this
giant, silent Yaqui and only once had
he sensed his past. That was when
Amigo had torn his shirt in lifting,
and across the rippling muscles of his
back there had beep shown the long
white wale of a whip.
It w'as the mark of his former ,
slavery when, with the rest of his peo
ple, he hud been deported to the hene
quen fields of Yucatan and flogged by
the overseer’s lash—and Amigo was
ashamed of it. But now that he was
about to go. Bud made bold to ask him
one more question, to set his mind at
rest.
"Perhaps this captain killed your
people?’’
"No, sencr,” answered Amigo quiet
ly; "they died."
He spoke the words simply, but
there was something in hie voice that
brought up images of the past—of
peaceful Yaquis, seized at every ranch
in Sonora on a certain night; of long
marches overland, prodded on by
rurales and guards; of the crowded
prison-ships from which the most an
guished hurled themselves into the
sea; and then the awful years of
slavery in the poisoned tropics, until
only the hardiest were left.
Amigo had seen It all, as the scars
on his broad back proved—but he
withdrew now Into silence aud left his
thoughts unsaid. As he sut there by
the fire, one long, black hund held out
to keep the gleam from Ills eyes, he
made a noble figure, but the Yaquql
songs which he hud crooned on other
nights were forgotteu, uud he held
himself tenee and still. Then ut lust
lie rose and guzed at Bud.
"You pay me my money," he said.
"I go now."
"Sure,” answered Bud. and after ho
had weighed out the equivalent in
gold oil his scales he flipped in somo
more for luck aud guve him a sack to
hold it
the aiLrar observes.
“What you buy with all that?” he
I Inquired with a friendly grin; "grub?"
J “No, senor,’ answered Amigo, knot
| ting the precious gold in a handker
chief; "cartridges!”
“What for?" queried Bud, and then
It was Amigo who smiled.
“To kill Mexicans with!" he replied,
and in those words Hooker read the
secret of his thrift.
While his wild brethren fought in
the hills or prepared for the battles to
come, it was his part to earn the
money that should keep them in am
munition. was for that, in fact, that
Porflrio Diaz had seized all the peace
ful Yaquiß in a night and shipped them
to Yucatan—for he saw that while
they were working the wild Yaquis
would never lack.
All the time that Amigo had been
doing two men’s work and saving on
the price of a shirt he had held that
cheerful dream In his mind—to kill
more Mexicans!
Yet, despite the savagery In him,
Hooker had come to like the Yaqui,
and he liked him still. With the
rurales on his trail it was better that
he should go, but Bud wanted him to
return. So, knowing the simple hon
esty of Indians, he brought out his
own spare pistol and placed it In Ami
go’s hands. Often he had seen him
gazing at it longingly, for it was light
er than his heavy Mauser and better
for the journey.
“Here," he said, “I will lend you my
pistol—and you can give it to me when
you come back."
“Sure!" answered the Indian, hang
ing it on his hip; "adios!"
They shook hands then, and the
Yaqui disappeared in the darkness. In
the morning, when a squad of rurales
closed in on the’ camp, they found
nothing but his great tracks in the
dust.
CHAPTER XIX.
It was June and the windstorms
which had swept in from the south
east died away. No more, as in the
months that had passed, did the dust
pillar rise from the dump of the For
tuna mill and go swirling up the can
yon.
A great calm and heat settled over
the harassed land, and above the far
blue wall of the Sierras the first thun
der caps of the rainy season rose up
till they obscured the sky. Then, with
a rush of conflicting winds, a leaden
silence, and a crash of flickering light,
the storm burst in tropic fury and was
gone as quickly as It had come.
So, while the rich landowners of the
hot country sat Idle and watched it
grow, another storm gathered behind
the distant Sierras; and, as empty
rumors lulled them to a false security,
suddenly from the north came the
news of dashing raids, of railroads
cut, troops routed, and the whole bor
der occupied by sw*arming rebels.
In a day the southern country was
isolated and cut off from escape and,
while the hordes of Chihuahua insur
rectos laid siege to Agua Negro, the
belated Spanish haciendados came
scuttling once more to Fortuna. There,
at least, was an American tow-n w'here
the courage of the Anglo-Saxon would
protect their women in extremity. And,
i if woret came to worst, it was better ,
to pay ransom to red-flag generals
than to fall victims to bandits and loot- !
ers.
As the bass roar of the great whistle
reverberated over the hills Bud Hook- i
er left his lonely camp almost gladly,
and with his hard-won gold-dust safe
beneath his belt, went galloping into
town.
Not for three w*eeks—not since he
received the wire from Phil and lo
cated the Eagle Tail mine—had he
dared to leave hie claim. Rurales. out
laws and Mexican patriots had dropped
in from day to day and eaten up most
of his food, but none of them had
caught him napping, and he hud no in
tention that they should.
A conspiracy had sprung up to get
rid of him, to harry him out of the
country, and behind it was Aragon.
But now, with the big whistle blowing,
Aragon would have other concerns.
He had his wife and daughter, the
beautiful Gracia, to hurry to the town,
and perhaps the thought of being
caught and held for ransom would de
ter him from stealing mines. So rea
soned Bud, and, dragging a reluctant
pack-animal behind him, be came rid
ing In for supplies.
At the store he bought flour and cof
fee and the other things which he
needed most. As he was passing by
the hotel Dou Juan de Dios halted him
for a moment, rushing out and thrust
ing a bundle of letters Into Ills hands
and hurrying back into the house, as
if fearful of being detected in such an
act of friendship.
Long before h 6 had lost his pardner
Bud hud decided that Don Juan was a
trimmer, a man who tried to be all
things to all people—as a good hotel
keeper should—but now he altered his
opinion a little, for the letters were
from Phil. He read them over in the
crowded plaza. Into which the first
refugees were Just beginning to pour,
and frowned as he skimmed through
the last.
Of Gracia and vain protestations of
devotion there waa enough und to
epare, but nothing about the mine*
Only in the first one, written on the
very day be hud deserted, did he so
much as attempt an excuse for so pre
cipitately abandoning their claim and
ills Mexican citizenship. Phil wrote:
My mull was being sent through head
quarters and looked over by Del Rey, u<>
1 knew 1 would never receive the papers,
even If they came. I hope you don’t feel
hard about It, pardner. Kruger says to
eomo out right away. I would have
stayed with It, but It wasn’t uny use.
4mJ now, Bud, I want to usk yuu some
king. VTifen you come out, bring Gracia
with you. Don’t leave her at the rnercy
of Del Rey. I would come myself If It
wasn’t sure death. Be quick about It,
Bud; I count on you.
The other letters were all like that,
but nothing about the mine. And yet
it was the mine that Bud was fighting 1
for—that they had fought for from the
Hrst. The railroad was torn up now,
and a flight with Gracia was hopeless,
but it was just as well, for he never
would abandon the Eagle Tail.
In two months, or three, when the
rebels were whipped off, his papers
might come. Then he could pay his j
taxes and transfer his title and con
aider the stealing of Gracia. But since
he had seen her and touched her hand 1
something held him back—a grudging
reluctance—and he wa.** glad that his !
duty lay elsewhere. Ir she was hie
girl now he would come down and get
her anyway.
But she was not his girl and, gazing ■
back grimly at the seething plaza and
the hotel that hid her from sight, he i
rode somberly down the road. After
all, there was nothing to get excited
about —every revoltoso in the country
was lined up around Agua Negra and,
with four hundred soldiers to oppose
them and artillery to shell their ad
vance, it would be many a long day be
fore they took that town.
Twice already Agua Negra had
fallen before such attacks, but now it
was protected by rifle-pits and ma
chine guns set high on mud roofs. And
then there were the Yaquis, still faith
ful to Madero. They alone could hold
the town, if they made up their minds
to fight. So reasoned Hooker, mulling
over the news that he had heard. But
he watched the ridges warily, for the
weather was good for raiders.
A day passed, and then another, and
the big whistle blew only for the
shifts; the loneliness of the hills op
preseed him as he gazed out at the
quivering heat. And then, like a toad
after a shower, Amigo came paddling
into camp on the heels of a thunder
storm, his sandals hung on his bip and
his big feet squelching through the
mud.
Across his shoulders he wore a gay
serape, woven by some patient woman
of his tribe; and in the belt beside
Bud’s pistol be carried a heavy knife,
blacksmithed from a ten-inch file by
•ome Yaqui hillman. All in all, he
was a fine barbarian, but he looked
good to the lonely Bud.
"Ola, Amigo!” he hailed, stepping |
out from the adobe house where he •
had moved to avoid the rains; and j
Amigo answered with his honest smile •
which carried no hint of savagery or j
deceit.
Try as he would. Bud could not
bring himself to think of his Yaqui as
dangerous; and even when he bal
anced the Indian’s murderous bowie
knife in his hands he regarded it with
a grin. It was a heavy weapon, broad
across the back, keen on one edge,
and drawn to a point that was both
sharp and strong. The haft was
wrapped with rawhide to hold the
clutch of the hand.
“What do you do with this?" queried
Hooker. "Chop wood? Skin deer?"
"Yes, chop wood!" answered Amigo,
but he replaced it carefully in his belt.
He looked the adobe bouse over >
thoughtfully, listened long to the
news of the border and of the rurales’
raid on their camp, and retired to the
rocks for the night. Even Bud never
knew where he slept—somewhere up
on the hillside —in caves or clefts in
the rocke —and not even the most
pressing invitation could make him
share the house for a night. To Amigo,
as to an animal, a house was a trap;
and he knew that the times were
treacherous.
So indeed they were, as Hooker was
to learn to his sorrow, and but for the
Yaqui and his murderous knife he
might easily have learned it too late.
It was evening, after a rainless day,
and Bud was cooking by the open fire,
when suddenly Amigo vanished and
four men rode in from above. They
were armed with rifles, as befitted the
times, but gave no signs of ruffianly
bravado, aud after a few words Bud in
vited them to get down and eat.
“Muchas gracias, senor," said the
leader, dismounting and laying his rifie
against a log, "we are not hungry."
“Then have some coffee," invited
Hooker, who made it a point to feed
every one who stopped, regardless of
their merit; and ouce more the Mexi
can declined. At this Bud looked at
him sharply, for h» refusal did not
augur well, and it struck him the
man’B face was familiar. He was tall
for a Mexican and heavily built, but
with a rather sinister cast of counte
nance.
"Where have I seen you before?"
asked Bud, after trying in vain to
place him. "In Fortuna?"
"No, senor,” answered the Mexican
politely. "1 have never been in that
city. Is it far?"
“Ten miles by the trail," responded
Hooker, by no means reassured, aud
under pretext of inviting them to eat,
he took a look ut the other men. if
they had not stopped to eat, what
then was their errand while the sun
was sinking so low? And why this
sullen refusal of the coffee which every
Mexican drinks?
Bud stepped into the house, as If on
some errand, und watched them un
seen from tlie interior. Seeing them
exchange glances tlieu, he leaned his
rifie Just inside the door and weut
about bis cooking.
It was one of the chances he took,
living out in the brush, but lie had
come to know this low-browed type or
Heini-bamlit all too well and had Minall
respect for their couruge. In case of
trouble Amigo was close by in the
rocks somewhere, probably with his
gun in his hand—but with a little pa
tience aud circumspection the unwel
come visitors would doubtless move
on.
So he thought, but instead they lin
gered, and when supper was cooked he
decided to go to a show-down—and if
they again refused to eat he would
send tteem on their way.
I "Ven amigos," he said, spreading
out the tin plates for them. “Come and
eat!"
The three low-brows glared at their
leader, who had done what little* talk
j ing there was so far, and, seized with
a sudden animation, he immediately
rose to his feet.
“Many thanks, senor," he said with
a crinjing and specious politeness.
! "We have come far and the trail is
! long, so we will eat. The times are
; hard for poor men now—this traitor.
| Madero, has made us all hungry. It is
by him that we poor working men ar»
driven to insurrection—but we know
j that the Americans are our friends.
! Yes, senor, I will take some of your
beans, and thank you.”
He filled a plate as he spoke and
lifted a biscuit from the oven, con
tinuing with hie false patter while tho
others fell to in silence.
! "Perhaps you have heard, senor," he
went on. “the saying which is in the
land: Mucho trabajo, paco dinero;
no hay frijoles. viva Madero! [Much
work, little money; no beans, long
live Madero!]
"That, In truth, is no jest to the
Mexican people. This man has be
trayed us all; he has ruined the coun
try and set brother against brother.
And now, while we starve because the
mines are shut down, he gathers his
family about him in the city and lives
fat on the money he has stolen."
He ran on in this style, after the
fashion of the revoltosos, and by the
very commonplace of his fulminations
Bud was thrown completely off his
guard. That was the w*ay they all
talked, these worthless bandit-beggare
—that and telling how they loved the.
Americanos—and then, if they got a
chance, 'hey would stick a knife in
your back.
He listened to the big man with a
polite toleration, being careful not to
turn his back, and ate a few bites as
he waited, but though it was coming
; dusk the Mexicans were in no hurry
to depart. Perhaps they hoped to stop
; for the night and get him in his sleep.
' Still they lingered on, the leader sit
ting on a log and continuing his
j harangue.
I Then, in the middle of a sentence,
j and while Bud was bending over the
fire, the Mexican stopped short and
leaned to one side. A tense silence
I fell, and Hooker was waked from his
trance by the warning click of a gun
| lock. Suddenly his mind came back
to his guests, and he ducked like a
hash, but even as he went down he
heard the hammer clack!
The gun had snapped!
Instantly Hooker's hand leaped to
his pistol and he fired from the hip
pointblank at the would-be murderer.
With a yell to the others, one of the
Mexicans sprang on him from behind
and tried to bear him down. They
struggled for a moment while Bud
shot blindly with his pistol and went
; down lighting.
Bud was a giant compared to the
stunted Mexicans, and he threw them
about like dogs that hang on to a bear.
With a man in each hand he rose to
his feet, crushing them down beneath
him; then, in despair of shaking off
his rider, he staggered a few r steps
and hurled himself over backward into
the fire.
A yell of agony followed their fall
and. as the live coals bit through the
Mexican’s thin shirt, he fought like a
cat to get tree. Rocks, pots and ket-
Threw Them About Like Dogs That
Hang Onto a Bear.
ties were kicked In every direction,
and when Hooker leaped to his feet
tile Mexican scrambled up and rushed
madly for the creek.
Hut, though Hud was free, the bat
tle had turned against him, for in the
brief interval of his tight the other
two Mexicans had run for their guns.
The instant he rose they covered him.
Their chief, who by some miracle had
escaped Hud's shot, gave a shout for
them to halt. Cheated of his victim at
the first lie was claiming the right to
kill.
To be Continued
W e want more people to know
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